Dead Man Walking
by psuedonymuos
Summary: What if the names Katniss, Prim and Peeta were actually Jade, Tori and Beck? What if there wasn't such thing as volunteering as tribute? Oneshot.


Since I've never written a proper fanfiction before, I decided I'd start off easy… So I might as well do a oneshot! I may or may not turn it into a proper story, it depends on whether I have time and whether you guys want that… So yeah. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I'm not Dan Schneider or Suzanne Collins, therefore I do not own either Victorious or the Hunger Games – however I do own a ukulele.**

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She stood with a nonchalant expression plastered across her face – seemingly staring into space. I coughed out my nervousness, not to bring her to her senses, but to simply clear my throat of the lump that was rising inside it; although it did seem to bring her back down to earth.

Her eyes flicked from side to side, as if searching for the source of the sound. I caught her gaze and she stared into my eyes deeply, as if she was desperately searching for something, even though all of my emotions were on the surface at this point – I was absolutely petrified – and I wasn't hiding it: I couldn't.

It was my name that was called out. _My_ name.

She lurched forward so suddenly that I was surprised the guards even caught her before she got past them. The blank expression on her face turned into a dejected one, as she struggled against the forceful shoves of the Peacekeepers. Why they were being so aggressive I'll never know; it's not as if it was anywhere near possible for her to ram past them – even if they were all stationary.

"TORI!" the first attempt comes out as a strangled cry, with a pained expression on her face. She then repeats herself, but this time it comes out as a hysterical scream, "TORI!"

Jade had promised me that my name wouldn't be chosen. She had then reassured me that it was next to impossible, as this was the first year that I'd come of age; the first year that my name was entered. There was only one slip out of thousands that had the name "Victoria Vega" written on it, yet somehow it was chosen.

I couldn't reply; it was as if my voice had been stolen: not that I'd want to anyway – Jade... she'd lied to me.

The small army of gendarmes escorted me to the stage, which in my opinion was completely unnecessary as it was only a few paces away. Even though I was extremely upset with my sister, I tucked my shirt in, just like she had tucked it in for me earlier.

_"Tuck your tail in, little duck," she said, pressing my blouse back in place. I laughed and retorted with a small "Quack." _

_"Quack yourself," she said with a light chuckle._

Jade had been there for me my whole life. I was abandoned by my original family shortly after my third birthday, when my older sister somehow persuaded them to leave me up for adoption. They left me with a letter – I try not to read it very often as it hurts so much, though I remember the exact wording:

_"Hello, my name is Victoria. I've been left here because I am a nuisance. I am constantly whining and clinging onto my older sister, Trina, who is the favourite. She will go far in life with her amazing talents, whereas I will not. You can take me in or leave me out here to die; my parents really couldn't care less."_

I quickly shook the image of 3 year old, me clutching the letter and my little belongings for dear life, from my head. The picture was taken shortly after I'd been found – and the picture, to this day, remains on the front of my file. A copy of the letter is stapled in on the first page, but I found the original.

I staggered up the steps. This seemed to irritate Helen as she decided it was obligatory to flounce across the stage, grab me by the arm and proceed to drag me to exactly where I was supposed to stand. She even went to the effort of bending over and retying my shoelaces (which I've got to admit looked adequate in the first place), before shifting my feet so that they were precisely parallel to each other.

I've seen Helen every year on the small television that everyone crowds around for the annual event, however in real life she looks extremely dissimilar to how she's portrayed on the screen. For starters, she's short: very short. They make her look tall by putting her in these ridiculous high heels. They also cake her in makeup (though it was probably by choice), which makes her shiny, and it's not just on her face; it's all over. The cosmetics cover her from head to toe; it's as if they're dressing robots, since she barely even looks human at all.

Although behind all this, there was something about her that was enigmatic. It was as if she wanted to be there, but didn't at the same time, and it was this very mystery that sparked my previously unprovoked curiosity.

I forced myself to pay attention to every single little detail to distract myself from the utter chaos going on in my mind. If I motivate myself to do this now, while in training I can be exceptionally aware of my surroundings. This way, I can distinctly recognise all of the other competitors' strengths and weaknesses, so that while they're working on their skills, I'll be figuring out how to exploit them. All of this leads to me doing everything in my power to win the games.

My adopted father always told me that cogitating things in advance would enhance my opportunities. Every night he would return home with an insightful statement of some sort, and leave us to ruminate upon it for nights on end. That's one of the more prominent reasons why I miss him – he always made us think. Whether it was about life in general, or about the criminals of the world and why they are the way they are: he always knew how to make us deliberate.

So that's exactly what I'm doing right now.

I looked back to Jade… Or should I say where she was when I last saw her. It was evident that the Peacekeepers had hauled her away somewhere, probably to keep her quiet due to the fact that her ear-splitting screaming made some of the small children cry, as well as the fact that she was disturbing the broadcast.

I was startled when I felt my arm being grasped, as Helen raised it into the air along with another arm belonging to my fellow tribute from this disritct; Beckett Oliver, followed by her pulling me a few feet across the stage to shake hands with him. I turned to the crowd.

She then, with an annoyingly upbeat attitude, she enunciated, "Let's give a big round of applause to our tributes from District Twelve!"

Not one person clapped.

I already knew what would become of me. Even if I could exploit the other contestants' weaknesses, that'd never be enough to triumph. I was a dead man walking.

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Well, I hope that wasn't too awful! Let me know if you want me to make it a proper story. :)


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